The European Space Agency managed to land a probe on the surface of a comet.

That’s pretty cool! Must have been loads of people talking about it on Twitter.

Well, one of the scientists also chose to wear a shirt covered in images of half-dressed women. Plus he described the mission as “sexy, but I never said she was easy.” Although most people seem more interested in the shirt than what he said. It’s generated something of a #shirtstorm.Hmm. That’s sounds like a strange sartorial choice. But why is everyone so excited?

It’s not so much a strange choice as an inappropriate one. This was broadcast all over the world, maybe even to schools. Just imagine the impression it gives to people!

Well ok, but it doesn’t seem that important. It was just a shirt! Does he deserve all this criticism?

You’re right that it actually isn’t that important by itself, but that’s true of most cases of unthinking sexism. By themselves they don’t matter much, but the cumulative effect can be quite potent and if you want to live in a decent society you need to care about these cumulative effects, because that’s what people experience.

He has had some criticism, but, in my limited sampling, it has been reasonably even tempered. And some criticism is deserved, after all. That said, I’d be astonished if none of the comments crossed the line. It’s too easy to want to drag him over hot coals when, on the evidence of his apology, it was just a silly, thoughtless mistake. We all make silly mistakes all the time and, as long as someone is willing to accept their mistake, we should be charitable in response.

Many of his defenders have also behaved decently, but, with depressing inevitability, there have been occasional rape threats against his critics.

Well, that’s obviously unacceptable! But I have one little question….

Yes.

You just mentioned the importance of cumulative effects. Is there not a risk that many criticisms on a platform like Twitter cumulatively add up to something unacceptable?

Indeed there is. And it risks leading to an unfortunate online culture. It’s difficult because people treat it as a way of talking to their friends when it is clearly a way of broadcasting views. There is a big difference between directing comments at the individual concerned and simply broadcasting them to the world, but, however they direct their comments, I do believe people should carefully consider whether joining in a Twitter storm is a helpful thing to do.

It’s become common to call such storms “bullying”, but that’s probably an inappropriate term. Perhaps we should call it “scapegoating” instead as it has similarities with the group ganging up against one person. No one likes to think that their small actions might be “scapegoating” or “bullying”, but no one likes to think that their small actions are especially sexist either.

If no one likes to think of their actions as sexist is it helpful to describe him as sexist?

This is a tricky one and the answer isn’t obvious, because any strong criticism can push people away rather than make them understand why what they did was wrong. Plus, I’d say that being a sexist person means more than doing one sexist thing. You can only really call someone sexist on the basis of a pattern of behaviour.

Ok, but let’s be honest, they’d landed a probe on a comet! Surely we should be concentrating on that.

I don’t know about you, but I’m quite capable of seeing the same event in several ways. The same national celebration can be an impressively organised piece of pageantry and an expression of an outdated monarchical system. A work of art can be beautiful and horrific at the same time. This extraordinary achievement can be both a spectacular example of human ingenuity and an unfortunate exemplar of how silly mistakes can hurt.

The worst examples of this are those people (I’m looking at you Dawkins!) who intimate that you have no place commenting on his shirt unless you are also capable of doing something impressive. This is daft. What most people actually have no place commenting on is the comet mission. They don’t even really understand how impressive it is, because they don’t have any idea what is involved. But they do understand how shirts and daft comments can offend.

There are far worse examples of sexism. Why are we all making a fuss about this one?

Just because there is a worse example available does not imply that we should not criticise this one. There is always something worse. The idea that we should always only concentrate on the worst thing is without any sensible foundation. We’d live in a very strange society!

Is the objection that it is being blown out of proportion? Well, maybe it is. Like I said, in itself it isn’t terribly important, but it is deserving of criticism.

Does this tell us something about sexism in the scientific community?

It may look like that. It could, for instance, put off young girls considering a scientific career. Really, though, it doesn’t tell us anything and commentators saying that it does are reading their own views of the scientific community into this one event.

That’s a bold statement!

Not at all. One incident very rarely tells you much about how a community functions. Why would anyone ever imagine that it did? You need to observe patterns over a period of time. You may get an odd snippet of information. I think all this event can tell us about the European Space Agency is that they don’t have robust practises for monitoring people’s sartorial choices during such broadcasts.

]]>https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/11/16/silly-shirts-and-social-media-storms/feed/0fliberdigibekAchievement, Privilege and the Luck of the Drawhttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/10/19/achievement-privilege-and-the-luck-of-the-draw/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/10/19/achievement-privilege-and-the-luck-of-the-draw/#respondSun, 19 Oct 2014 20:15:09 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=288“There is no such thing as legitimate accomplishment”, is the title of a little post by Fredrik deBoer[1]. I shall briefly discuss his argument before turning to some elements of it that I think deserve consideration.
1

I’ll endeavour to portray the argument as best I can. To do so, I’m afraid that I shall have to reconfigure and reorder it. My intention is to preserve what is best about the argument, to portray it in as charitable a way as I can, and to bring out the features of it that I believe are worthy of further note. Of course, there is a chance that in the process I’ll distort and misrepresent his position, but that is certainly not my intention.

The first major argumentative target, it seems to me, is the claim that we should not think about privilege as something that enables us to define a scale of who is most and who is least privileged. This claim has a twofold ground. It is wrong both politically and theoretically.

The theoretical point seems to be principally supported by the earlier paragraphs. deBoer claims that there are many kinds of unearned advantage, or “privilege”. Some of them fit the traditional categories of “privilege theory” – for example white privilege or male privilege – whilst others are perhaps less obvious. Each of us is advantaged and disadvantaged in various ways, and we cannot understand “from the outside” how these differences manifest themselves. It is difficult, or perhaps impossible, to have a useful scale of privilege in these circumstances.

The criticism on political grounds is that doing so “asks people to define themselves by their advantages without acknowledging the hardships that everyone endures.” Such a strategy is more likely to divide than unify, and the majority will not be won over.

The second major argumentative target, I think, is the conclusion of the piece: “The very notion of just deserts… is what has to die.”

There is no clear line between privilege, or unearned advantage, and legitimate accomplishment. We can never know whose accomplishments are earned and whose are not. “No one’s life is the product only of their work ethic and intelligence.” So we should divert attention from “just deserts” to the aim of providing an economic system that provides for the people’s “absolute right to food, shelter, clothing, health care and education.”

2

On this second point, there is some ambiguity in the post as to whether this is ultimately an argument from political expediency or whether it is, at least in part, theoretically grounded – whether or not we are actually supposed to believe that there really is “no such thing as legitimate accomplishment”. Certainly that final claim doesn’t actually follow.

The fact that there is no clear line between two properties does not imply that there are not, generally speaking, clear criteria for distinguishing. There is no clear line between “orange” and “red”, but so what? And the fact, if it is a fact, that there is no way of knowing exactly which accomplishments are legitimate and which not, does not imply that there is no fact of the matter. At best it demonstrates that it is a distinction that may not be of much use for practical purposes.

At this point I shall leave discussion of the particular argument that deBoer makes and consider a few things that interest me, before returning to the political question at the end. I shall consider:

Some of the various forms that unearned advantage and disadvantage take.

Whether or not we really find it impossible to distinguish cases of achievement from cases of privilege, and what we mean when we do so.

Whether or not we tend to think that outcomes which needed a high degree of luck are illegitimate.

3

There is no doubt that there are many unearned advantages and disadvantages that can affect the life chances of an individual. We can, if we must, choose to call the unearned advantages “privilege”, but I can’t help feeling that this rather muddies the waters in several ways.

The classic examples of privilege are unearned advantages of a very particular type. Society gives you wealth or status or influence at the expense of others. You have something you shouldn’t have and this is why many people would say that you shouldn’t abuse your privilege. Conventionally these privileges accrue to people of a given class, gender or race.

One can also have relative advantages that derive from differential treatment by society, but that one would not normally term “privilege”. It is lucky for me that I don’t get regularly stopped and hassled by the police because of my race. I wouldn’t call that a privilege that I possess, partly because not getting harassed by the police because of race is, it seems to me, a universal right which we should all enjoy. And, of course, the fact that I get to enjoy that right is not at the expense of those who, sadly, do not.

I’m lucky to have been born in the late 20th century and not in the 13th. I’m fortunate to have been born in Western Europe and not North Korea. We don’t tend to call these “privilege” although one can see many similarities. It seems to me that this may be because we view these differences as between societies rather than within a single society, although the notion of a society is a rather slippery one.

There are other differences in our life chances and outcomes that are not really at anybody’s expense and have nothing to do with rights. Avoidance of serious injury, physical disease and mental illness are plainly not earned and are certainly advantageous.

And there is the genetic lottery itself. Some of us are lucky to be more intelligent, stronger or faster than others. Some of this difference, of course, is due to our environment, but it is at least possible that some of this is due to the sheer luck of the genetic draw[2]. No matter how hard I trained there is no chance that I could have become a professional basketball player.

Curiously, I note in passing that this final class is one that deBoer almost sounds happy with. If my life was solely a product of my “work ethic and intelligence” would that make my accomplishments, such as they are, wholly deserved? It is certainly open to challenge[3].

4

Is it really impossible to distinguish cases of achievement from cases of privilege? It is clear, after all, that we do make such distinctions. If it is impossible to do so correctly, does this mean that the distinctions we draw have nothing to do with real differences? Are we referring to nothing at all when we do so? This seems most implausible. The distinctions that we draw tell us something about what our concept of achievement is.

Achievements are typically difficult to accomplish. Often they are difficult for anyone, but it is sufficient for them to be difficult for the person in question. Sometimes, admittedly, we might qualify this case by saying that “it’s an achievement for them”. An achievement is usually something that we need to work for either directly or indirectly, by building our knowledge, skill, endurance etc.

They are not the outcome of pure luck. However unlikely it may be, it is not an achievement to win the lottery. But it is not the case that chance must play no role. It is an achievement to win an Olympic gold medal, but there is always some element of chance. The athlete could easily have picked up an injury in training despite all their efforts. Perhaps interestingly we do not usually use the word ‘luck’ to refer to such elements of chance.

Suppose I attempt a putt during a game of golf. Much against the odds the ball ends up in the hole. It was luck rather than my skill. A very skilled golfer, by contrast, who would be expected to make the same shot nine times out of ten would not be lucky if they made the same putt, despite the fact that there is some element of chance. We do not use ‘luck’ to refer to all kinds of chance in life.

Because achievement is often relative to the individual or group we tend to applaud people who succeed despite the difficulties of their background more than we do those whose background is more advantageous. We tend to assess achievement either by assessing the effort that was required or by comparison with a set of people similarly endowed by the luck of the draw. Such assessment is fallible, of course, but that is no reason to suppose that it is impossible.

5

Do we tend to think that outcomes that are obtained through a high degree of luck are illegitimate? Oddly this seems not to be true at all. We don’t tend to complain about people who win the lottery despite the fact that their fortune is not really earned. The contrast with our attitudes to large inherited wealth is stark. There are, of course, political reasons to complain about inherited wealth that don’t apply to lottery wins, but it’s not obvious that this is the sole explanation for the difference.

In any event, the truth is that we tend to be perfectly happy with unearned outcomes if they are the result of an apparently fair process.

6

So, there are no good reasons to believe that there is no distinction between legitimate and illegitimate outcomes. The ways in which we have unearned advantages and disadvantages are many and various, but we have a range of accepted ways for distinguishing achievement from luck. Furthermore, we don’t tend to believe that lucky outcomes are necessarily illegitimate at all.

Despite all that, could it be a useful political stance, claiming that there is no such thing as legitimate accomplishment? Certainly. If you place too much emphasis on the notion of deserving or having the moral right to the products of your own efforts, then you neglect the importance of the contribution that society undoubtedly made. You foster the notion that you did it all by yourself and that you owe society nothing; that taxation is theft. And this is a notion that deserves to be fought.

Logically speaking, of course, this is quite true and, as is rather too famous, the starting point for a twitter storm centred on Richard Dawkins[1]. Many things have been said on this subject. Much of it is incoherent or trivial. There is absolutely no guarantee that I shall avoid those two pitfalls, but, for all that, I shall try.
1

I shall also avoid explicitly referring to the particular examples that Dawkins used. I do consider the choice of examples to be of the utmost importance, but I fear that they can generate more heat than light. In this initial section I shall discuss part of the reason for this.

Dawkins portrays his argument expressing “a simple logical point”[2]. But if that were so, why did he choose this particular logical point? There are many such logical statements he could have made.

The essential thing is that people do not quote logical arguments or, for that matter, state facts for no reason. There is a background to any such statement, a context in which it which it functions both as a logical point and as a rhetorical device. Mathematical arguments may be purely logical, but even scientific arguments are inevitably somewhat rhetorical. In this context several commenters have wondered what his motivations were for saying what he did.

The most generous interpretation is that there is some background argument to which the raw logical point is relevant. The examples he chose were, on this interpretation, simply unwise or insensitive. The most extremely critical version of this position is that the examples were subjects that should never be discussed in this way. Whilst I don’t think people should aim to shock for the sake of it, neither can I really accept that these things are truly off limits.

A less generous interpretation is that the examples were the real subject that he wished to discuss. If this is so, then we are tempted to believe that he is following a standard rhetorical pattern. Several possibilities for the “Y is worse than X” argument are:

We are supposed to understand that it is not so important to combat instances of X.

We are supposed to understand that victims of X are less worthy of our care and concern.

People shouldn’t be making a fuss about X when Y is happening.

Seeing that some people are tempted to buy into one or more of these interpretations, then I think it is reasonably clear why this “simple logical point” caused such a fuss. I am not sure if such an interpretation is justified or not, but he denies it.

2

One response to Dawkins’s examples has been to say [3] “X is a crime. There are no degrees of criminal offence: you are either guilty of the crime or you are not. Therefore there are no degrees of X.” This does not seem to me to be a very good argument. The simplest rebuttal is that sentences vary for the same offence. Indeed, sentencing guidelines for England and Wales [4] refer to various categories of harm and culpability as well as aggravating and mitigating factors, all of which impact the sentence. The legal system actually differentiates between individual instances of X, which is what the response claims to deny.

The deeper problem is that the argument gets things precisely backwards. We make laws to forbid certain actions because we have a pre-existing reaction either against those actions themselves or against the outcomes to which those actions tend to lead.

Sometimes laws are essentially pragmatic. We are all required to wear a seatbelt in a car because it reduces injuries suffered in car crashes. In this case, the law is justified by the negative value we attach to such injuries, the efficacy of the legal measure at limiting such injuries and an evaluation of the costs, predominantly moral costs, of implementing such a measure. Such pragmatic laws are primarily a question of the values that we place on outcomes. There may be no moral indignation involved.

Sometimes laws are based more on a moral attitude towards the action – for example, burglary or murder. It is our pre-existing moral revulsion towards such actions that drives the call for them to be made illegal. This does not imply that we are not morally concerned by the outcome of such action. Murder, for example, leads to the death of an individual and that outcome is of the greatest importance. But we also have powerful moral reactions against attempted murder even if, in an extreme example, the intended victim is never harmed and learns nothing of the attempt. Our reaction is not solely about the outcome.

The law, then, cannot tell us much about whether one action is worse or not because it aims, or should aim, to reflect our system of values and not to dictate those values to us.

3

Another response has been to say that Dawkins is in no position to rank such crimes. This is really at least two complaints that need to be carefully unpacked.

i

One is that it is not up to him to say that Y is worse than X in general because he does not know the specific details of any one case. This argument is consistent with there being grounds which do differentiate, and therefore rank, cases, but makes the claim that the categories that he used are inappropriate. It is also consistent with, but does not rely on, the claim that the information required to make such a ranking is in principle unobservable for Dawkins. Perhaps this is because the differentiating factor is the personal reaction of the victim.

This argument is closely allied with, but by no means identical with, the claim that moral value is intrinsically related to the personal suffering of the victims. In other words, it is close to a version of hedonistic act consequentialism. There is the option of the additional claim that personal suffering is exactly that, personal, and no one else is in a position to assess the extent of such suffering. It may further include the claim that no one else is entitled to make such an assessment.

Many people accept some form of consequentialism and I shall return to a discussion of such a view in this context towards the end of this post. For now, I merely wish to note that it is a bold claim to assert that suffering is intrinsically personal.

A simplistic argument would be to say that we do not really think it is true that we are unable to judge other people’s suffering. We act as if we can judge who is in pain – physically or emotionally. We offer them support or assistance on those grounds. And such grounds are not solely based on their own testimony of their suffering. We do not always believe people’s accounts – perhaps because we justifiably believe that they have an interest in exaggerating or minimising the appearance of their pain.

Whether or not we entitled to make such assessments we are all, it seems to me, quite incapable of avoiding doing so. It is a fundamental part of our general framework of human life.

There are further philosophical problems with this claim. It is rather Cartesian in its view of the world. We are trapped inside our heads and have special access to our thoughts and feelings and no access at all to those of others. This is an enormous subject and I shall simply note, by way of warning, that that way lies radical scepticism. There be monsters down that path and one should be wary about starting in that direction.

ii

Another claim is that it is wrong for Dawkins to rank such crimes because that is him, as a man, telling women how crimes against them should be ranked [5]. This generalises to the claim that certain crimes against certain groups of people are not be judged or ranked by outsiders. It is a group identity claim where people possess certain privileges, responsibilities or limitations because of their membership of particular groups.

It seems to me that there are two ways to interpret such a claim. The first is that this is an expression of a truth somewhat independent of the details of history. People are, intrinsically, members of certain groups and have special access to knowledge, or empathy, or moral judgement, or whatever, by virtue of being a member of such a group. I confess that I do not like this claim. It is the argumentative form that is used to justify racism, sexism, etc., and I am not sure that I know how to distinguish invalid instances of this argument from those that might be valid. I further doubt that any such argument is valid at all.

The second way to interpret the claim is to see it as a tactical moral stance that is intrinsically related to the historical circumstances that have led us to this present moment. If society were to change substantially we would no longer accept such a moral position because the historical circumstances that justify it no longer prevail.

Perhaps the justification for this bar is that men have historically spent far too long making such judgements and excluding women from the conversation. I have some considerable sympathy with this view – although I would merely note that at some point I hope that we need to make a transition to a different world. In that context I think that considered, sensitive contributions to such topics from men that do not try to shut out the voices of women should be, if not welcomed, at least tolerated.

I leave it to the reader to decide what, if anything, I think of Dawkins’s contributions on that score.

4

There is one final claim that I wish to consider. That is that the reason that it is wrong to rank such actions is that no such ranking exists.

The simplest versions of consequentialism are dependent upon the notion that states of the world can be ranked on a scale, with better outcomes ranked more highly than worse. The best thing for us to do is the act that maximises this quantity – happiness, utility, or whatever. In particular, the hedonistic act consequentialism which seems partially responsible for the objection in 3i is such a version of consequentialism.

To an extent, something along these lines seems to motivate Dawkins. He does not understand how people can think in such absolute terms – by which he means that some people rate acts by a binary right or wrong assessment, rather than by assessing the merits relative to other acts. For him, it seems, all judgements are somewhat relative. There is always something worse and always something better.

Whilst I wholeheartedly concur that there is always something worse and usually something better, it does not seem to me that we can realistically accept a unique scale across all outcomes. Can we meaningfully compare the beauty of a painting with the excellence of a meal?

It is tempting to insist that we can, simply to ensure that there is always a rational way to make a decision between two outcomes. We do, after all, make actual choices to eat fine meals rather than relish a painting, and vice versa. How can these decisions be rational if there are no grounds on which the choice is made?

This is another very large topic. Suffice to say that I accept a plurality of values that cannot simply be mapped to one. I think that the fear that this makes most of our actions irrational is a misunderstanding of the words “rational” and “irrational” largely foisted upon us by decision theory and, consequently, economics. We can all reason perfectly well and choose perfectly reasonably, without the need to invent a scale in which all outcomes may be weighed. Not every pair of outcomes can be ranked.

]]>https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/08/04/dawkins-rankings-ranklings-and-righteousness/feed/0fliberdigibekDavidson’s Anomalous Monism and the Causal Efficacy of the Mentalhttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/07/16/davidsons-anomalous-monism-and-the-causal-efficacy-of-the-mental/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/07/16/davidsons-anomalous-monism-and-the-causal-efficacy-of-the-mental/#respondWed, 16 Jul 2014 20:40:40 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=265Davidson’s anomalous monism is an account of the relationship between the mental and the physical. As a stalking horse for some of the issues, I discuss the extent to which Kim’s causal exclusion argument poses a problem for Davidson.
1

The Principle of the Nomological Character of Causality: “where there is causality there must be law”[2].

The Principle of the Anomalism of the Mental: “there are no strict deterministic laws on the basis of which mental events can be predicted and explained”[3].

In addition, Davidson’s position is monist: the physical world is a causally closed system, and thoughts, beliefs, etc. are physical.

The first two of Davidson’s principles are intuitively plausible. Most of our actions in daily life are premised upon the notion that mental events can cause physical events and vice versa. For us to accept that one event caused another we typically require that the second event was necessitated by the first and the existence of a covering law seems to provide one way to understand causal necessity.

The Principle of the Anomalism of the Mental is less intuitive, but is related, for Davidson, to the distinct characters of physical and mental statements: “There are no strict psychophysical laws because of the disparate commitments of the mental and physical schemes”[4]. Mental and physical descriptions are both subject to revision, but the revision of mental descriptions depends on “the constitutive ideal rationality”[5] in a way that the revision of physical descriptions does not. So the “nomological slack between the mental and the physical is essential as long as we conceive of man as a rational animal”[6].

In order to resolve the apparent contradiction between these three principles, Davidson proposes that any particular mental event is token-identical with a physical event. There may be psycho-physical interaction because there may exist a physical description of a mental event that relates it to a distinct physical event in terms of a law. In order to ensure that the third principle is upheld the relationship between the mental and the physical properties associated with an event must not be law-like in nature. Davidson proposes that the relationship between them is that the mental supervenes on the physical: “there cannot be two events alike in all physical respects but differing in some mental respect”[7].

2

Kim’s causal exclusion argument considers a mental event, m, instantiating a mental property, M, where m is the cause of some other mental event, m*, instantiating a mental property, M*. Now, m* has physical properties, P*, which, by the definition of supervenience, necessarily imply the existence of M*. Kim argues[8] that we are committed to a position of downward causation where the occurrence of M is the cause of the occurrence of P*.

The event m has physical properties, P, which imply the existence of M. Therefore, if M is sufficient for the occurrence of P*, “it follows that P is sufficient, as a matter of law, for P*”[9]. But we cannot have two separate sufficient causes for P* and so, if M is not identical with P, mental properties appear to be epiphenomenal.

3

A simple way of expressing Kim’s argument might be to say that if we were to change or remove the mental properties associated with an event, it would make no difference to any causal relationships that include that event. Does this suffice to show that the mental properties are causally irrelevant in anomalous monism?

In the context of Davidson’s philosophy it is events, however described, and not properties that are related by cause and effect. Because mental properties supervene on physical properties you cannot change or remove the mental properties without also changing the physical properties. There is no logically possible world in which the mental properties could be so rearranged whilst the physical properties are preserved. So this does not suffice to show that mental properties are causally irrelevant.

Yet in order for two events to be related by cause and effect, they need fall under a law. And they can only do so because their physical properties play a role in the law in question. So physical properties appear to play a role in the attribution of causality that mental properties do not.

4

Consider a billiard ball striking another and causing it to move. The colour of the billiard ball is causally irrelevant to the movement of the second ball in the sense that whether it is struck by a white or red ball, the second ball will move in the same way. In contrast the mass, velocity and elasticity of the ball are causally relevant because they play roles in the laws of physics that describe the situation.

For anomalous monism, if the mental properties are different then it is not the same event. So the mental properties are a necessary requirement for that event to cause that effect. But this is as true of our example of the billiard balls. If the first ball were red and not white then the striking of the second ball would be a different event.

Because of the relationship of supervenience, if the mental properties are to change, there must be a change in the physical properties. But, in practice, if we were to change the colour of the billiard ball there would also be some small change in the mass or internal constitution of the ball. There is no way to repeat the experiment in such a way as to hold the causally relevant properties strictly constant whilst varying the causally irrelevant ones.

Yet we still accept that the colour is causally irrelevant. So the fact that the mental properties are a necessary requirement for a particular event to cause a particular effect does not seem to suffice to demonstrate that the mental properties are causally relevant.

5

Suppose, in contrast, that mental properties are not such an orthogonal description to physical properties as might be suggested by the broadest notion of supervenience. Only physical properties sharing some, possibly loosely defined, characteristics can be described as instantiating some mental property. Under such circumstances the mental property may have explanatory power without being identifiable with any particular physical property.

Consider the theory of evolution[10]. Every instance of survival, reproduction and variation has a proximate cause which can be described without reference to evolution. Yet evolution is explanatorily successful, partially because, whilst there are many ways for an organism to be fit, all those ways form a family of properties capable of playing a role in a higher level theory. One could choose to describe such a high level property as explanatorily successful and causally irrelevant, but one could also describe it as causally relevant albeit not causally determinative.

Davidson raises the possibility of non-strict or statistical laws linking mental and physical properties[11]. The three principles underlying anomalous monism would still be satisfied since the third principle only forbids “strict deterministic laws”. It is Kim’s position that such a view is still subject to his causal exclusion argument[12], but perhaps all we desire is that mental properties play a valuable explanatory role and hence are not epiphenomenal in any vicious sense.

]]>https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2014/07/16/davidsons-anomalous-monism-and-the-causal-efficacy-of-the-mental/feed/0fliberdigibekHume on Causation: A Sketch and Some Considerationshttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/24/hume-on-causation-a-sketch-and-some-considerations/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/24/hume-on-causation-a-sketch-and-some-considerations/#respondTue, 24 Jan 2012 23:10:56 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=52Hume famously argued that we cannot have any experience of causation. I outline one interpretation of his argument before turning to consider some aspects of the argument that seem to me to be worthy of further consideration.
Firstly we consider the nature of a cause. A cause is related to its effect. A cause must be prior to the effect. It is not possible for my actions today to cause an event last week. But priority in time is clearly not a sufficient criterion for an event to be the cause of another event. Many interpretations require proximity in space and Hume also takes this position. The intuition behind this requirement is that my actions in Britain cannot cause an event in Australia, at least not without a sequence of mediating causes. Yet no set of similar requirements suffice to identify an event as the cause of an effect unless there is a special connection between the cause and the effect.

Hume defines a cause as “an object, followed by another, and where all objects similar to the first are followed by objects similar to the second”[1]. Alternatively as one “where, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed”[2]. The cause must be necessarily connected to the effect. All other things being equal, if the cause were absent the effect would not follow.

Hume’s challenge to the notion of causation is centred on criticisms of this idea of necessary connection. In particular he claims that we can have no idea of necessary connection and hence no idea of causation.

1

“All the objects of human enquiry may naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Relations of Ideas and Matters of Fact”[3]. Propositions which state “Relations of Ideas” are true because the denial of the proposition is a contradiction. They are necessary. If causal propositions were a priori in this sense then we might be able to understand the necessary connection of causality in terms of the necessity of a priori truths.

“No object ever discovers, by the qualities which appear to the senses, either the causes which produced it, or the effects which will arise from it”[4]. If we observe a billiard ball moving towards another then there are a number of outcomes which are conceivable. The first ball may stop and the second move, they both may stop or the first ball may bounce back in a straight line. Because all of these outcomes are conceivable they are, according to Hume, possible. There is no contradiction in them occurring.

Since there is no logical contradiction in asserting that an apparent effect will cease to follow its apparent cause, the necessary connection of cause and effect is not an a priori necessity.

2

“All our ideas… are copies of our impressions”[5]. If our idea of causal necessity is not a priori necessity then it must be derived from our impressions. Hume rules out the possibility of innate ideas. Thus if we have a clear idea of causal necessity it must be derived from experience.

Our impressions have two sources. They may be due to our external senses, such as sight, touch or taste. Or they may be due to our internal senses, namely our capacity for reflection on our inner state.

The direct objects of our perception are, for Hume, mental objects. This provides a significant restriction on our capacity to observe necessary connection in the physical world. Essentially, if we cannot see a connection between the idea of the cause and the idea of the effect then we cannot see a connection between cause and effect. And the impressions of a cause and an effect are quite separate in a way that our ideas of triangularity and having three sides are not.

There is nothing in the impression of the cause that seems to imply the effect. Thus we cannot have derived the idea of necessary connection from our external senses. If we are to have a clear idea of causal necessity the only remaining possibility is that we acquired it from our internal impressions.

3

When we choose to move our arm it does seem that we have a sense that our arm moving is connected to our decision to move it. Is this the source of our idea of a necessary connection between events?

If we clearly perceive the connection between our decisions and our actions then we must understand it. But “is there any principle in nature more mysterious than the union of soul with body..?”[6]. Furthermore, we do not understand why we can control some of our organs and not others. If we fully understood the power we have to move our limbs we would understand why cannot control our heart or liver. Thus we cannot get a clear idea of necessary connection from our capacity to control our actions.

Hume also dismisses possibility that our idea of necessary connection is derived from our ability to control our own thoughts. We do not understand the human soul or the nature of the ideas that we contemplate. We cannot gain an understanding of causal necessity by considering the relationship of two entities that we do not comprehend.

4

In summary, Hume’s argument is that causal necessity is not an a priori necessity. Thus if we have the idea of causal necessity we must have derived it from an impression. External impressions do not contain a hint of a necessary connection between events. Internal impressions are insufficiently understood for us to derive a clear idea of a causal connection. Thus we have no idea of causal necessity and, consequently, we have no idea of cause and effect.

5

It remains briefly to consider some aspects of Hume’s argument. Firstly, I discuss whether or not the idea of a cause and the idea of an effect are really totally distinct. Second, I consider whether or not it is right to say that we do not see events cause effects.

6

Hume claims that an effect and a cause are totally distinct events. There is nothing in the cause that tells us anything about what the effect might be. This cannot be the whole story. We can, according to Hume, have a clear idea of solidity. If we have such an idea it seems to follow that one billiard ball cannot pass straight through the second and continue on its path. It appears that the idea of the cause contains within it a limitation to the range of possible effects.

In particular, the first ball must deviate from its original course, the second ball move from its current position or, perhaps, some combination of the two. In the first case we might say that the second ball has caused the first to deviate from its path. In the second we might say the first ball has caused the second to move.

This analysis does not pick out a unique outcome and so does not appear to amount to the necessity we seek. But causal predictions are rarely, if ever, absolutely precise. If a billiard ball is on a path to strike a second ball we would predict that it will cause the other ball to move. We need not specify the trajectories of the balls in further detail in order to claim a necessary connection between the movement of the first ball and the movement of the second.

Once we have accepted that the impression of the cause limits the set of possible effects it appears that the difference between this limitation and causal necessity is a matter of degree.

7

Hume claims that we see one event and then another. We do not see one event cause another. We simply see two disjoint states of affairs. Yet this does not quite seem to match our usage of the word ‘see’.

If someone watches a boxing match which ends in a knock-out it seems most reasonable to say that they see one boxer knock out another. But to knock someone out is to cause them to lose consciousness. Similarly, if a witness in murder case reports seeing a victim being attacked, it seems natural to say that they see the victim being killed. One of the uses to which we put the verb ‘to see’ is to describe our perception of causal relationships.

This use of the verb ‘to see’ is defeasible. Just because we say that we see X cause Y does not imply that X caused Y. Although, of course, if X did not actually cause Y then we are wrong to assert that we saw X cause Y. This is the key to this usage of ‘see’. It is often more about the world than it is about our perceptual experience. Consequently, whilst it might be true to say that we see causal relationships it is not at all obvious that our perceptual experience tells us something directly about such a causal relationship.

Yet we must have criteria for this usage of ‘see’ and it is not immediately evident that these criteria include a record of the constant conjunction of events. Furthermore, much of our language about the world is dependent on or related to the idea of causal connection. It is possible that the criteria for all of these words can be traced to observations of sequences of constant conjunction, but at the very least this implies that the criteria for using a word such as ‘strike’ are significantly different in different contexts.

8

Hume criticises the notion that we can have any experience of causation by arguing that we can have no experience of a necessary connection between events. I have endeavoured to suggest that this conclusion is not quite so clear cut as it first appears.

]]>https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/24/hume-on-causation-a-sketch-and-some-considerations/feed/0fliberdigibekParasites, Classes and Ideologieshttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/16/parasites-classes-and-ideologies/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/16/parasites-classes-and-ideologies/#respondMon, 16 Jan 2012 19:05:33 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=192This post is prompted by a viral image containing a quote from Jason Read, a philosophy professor at the University of Southern Maine. In case the link to the photo breaks at some future time I reproduce the quote:

People who dismiss the unemployed and dependent as “parasites” fail to understand economics and parasitism. A successful parasite is one that is not recognized by its host, one that can make its host work for it without appearing as a burden. Such is the ruling class in a capitalist society.

It is proving very popular. This is surely no surprise at the moment. But, popular or not, we should ask ourselves whether or not it is correct. He makes three substantive claims. Firstly, those who describe the unemployed and dependent as parasites are making a factual or conceptual error. That is simply not how the word ‘parasites’ should be used. Secondly, for a parasite to be successful its host must not recognise the existence of the parasite. Thirdly, that the ruling class is a parasite. I shall argue that the first two substantive points are simply incorrect. The third may be correct, but primarily expresses an ideological point.

The second point is the simplest to dismiss. It is simply false that “a successful parasite is one that is not recognised by its host”. A parasite can be successful and easily identifiable as long as the host cannot counter the parasite or cannot do so without incurring a cost. An infestation of fleas is easily recognised by the host. We are aware when we are suffering from the flu. What is true is that one possible strategy for a parasite to be successful is to avoid being recognised by its host.

The first point is rhetoric, but let us take it at face value. The word ‘parasite’ is, he claims, factually or conceptually inappropriate for the unemployed and dependent. If he were to claim that it was ethically inappropriate to use the word in that way, I would agree. But that is not his claim. Those who use it in this way “fail to understand economics and parasitism”. So far we have seen reason to believe that it is in fact Mr Read who does not really understand biological parasitism. The word ‘parasite’, however, does not only refer to the biological phenomenon. Indeed it derives from the Greek word ‘parasitos’ which means “one who eats at the table of another” usually, it must be admitted, in exchange for services rendered such as flattery or conversation. That this word might be applied to those who are dependent on others does not seem to be a conceptual mistake, although it may well be unpleasant and offensive.

As a diversion we should ask ourselves whether or not using the word ‘parasite’ in this way might betray a lack of economic understanding. Here I find myself in some agreement with Mr Read. I suspect my reasons differ greatly from his, but I have some sympathy with the conclusion. The way that modern western economies are run accepts a certain level of unemployment. Modern macroeconomics goes so far as to define ‘full employment’ as having a level of unemployment greater than zero. In this sense, some of the unemployed are playing an essential role in the functioning of the wider economy. If this is so then they are providing a service to the rest of society by being unemployed and are, in fact, not getting something for nothing. I do not wish to discuss whether or not economics should define ‘full employment’ in this manner, or whether we should run our countries in this way. I merely wish to point out that having chosen, as a nation, to do so, criticising those who inadvertently suffer as a consequence may betray a lack of understanding.

The final point is that the ruling class is a parasite. We should note that he does not make the claim that all members of the ruling class are parasites. This may or may not be his view, but he takes no position on that issue in this quote. The trouble is that his claim is about a group of people as a whole and membership of that group is ill defined at best. We shall assume that it refers to some set of people who own a significant fraction of the total wealth. The question we need to ask is whether or not this group of people benefit at the expense of some other group. It is not enough that they have more wealth. Their ongoing relationships with the other group must be such that they gain more than they give.

It is not clear how to compare the value of distinct goods. Is a certain amount of labour worth more or less than the money that is paid for it? The conventional economic answer is that there is no sense to this question beyond asking where the market clears. If this is so and if the transactions between the ‘ruling class’ and the other group are conducted through a properly functioning free market then the ‘ruling class’ do not benefit at the expense of the other group. Neither group benefits.

This is not an entirely satisfactory analysis, however. As a minimum, no market is ever really properly functioning and free. Furthermore, we do not really believe that people only enter into transactions in which they do not anticipate losing. Often they do so and they do so because they believe they have no choice. It seems reasonable that actual prices do not accurately reflect what we would term ‘actual value’. And if that is so then it is possible that one group benefits significantly at the expense of the other.

If we do not believe we can rely on the market to compare the values of distinct goods, we are left having to take a position as to the real value of goods. But any such claim is necessarily value-laden and not factual or conceptual. It is an ideological claim or an ethical claim. It may well be reasonable to agree that the ‘ruling class’ benefit at the expense of others, but it is a mistake to view it as something that can be settled by facts or by an improved understanding of economics or parasitism.
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https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/16/parasites-classes-and-ideologies/feed/0fliberdigibekIllusions, Impossibilia and Free Will: Careful Nowhttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/illusions-impossibilia-and-free-will-careful-now/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/illusions-impossibilia-and-free-will-careful-now/#respondThu, 12 Jan 2012 14:38:46 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=161Will Wilkinson has a post in which he discusses illusions and whether or not it is possible to have the illusion of free will. It is interesting, but, I contend, flawed.

Often the word ‘illusion’ refers to a sensory experience in which we mistake the true nature of the sensory information that we actually receive. For example, I might believe that I see an oasis on the horizon. It is not actually a pool of water, but it looks like a pool of water. In an optical illusion one line may look shorter than another, but it is not actually shorter. I know what pools of water look like and I know what lines look like when they are shorter than other lines. And it would seem that in order for me to mistake an experience X as indicative of some situation Y I must have some idea how Y generally appears. I must have an idea of how a pool of water appears in order to mistake a mirage for an actual oasis.

Does it therefore follow, as Mr Wilkinson seems to believe, that in order for me to have an illusion that X appears to be Y I must be acquainted with instances of Y? I cannot have the illusion of seeing a four sided triangle. This is because there is no such thing as ‘looking like a four sided triangle’. It is not because there is no such thing as a four sided triangle. Four sided triangles are a priori impossible objects, which explains why there is no such thing as looking like one. There are other ways in which it can be the case that there is no such thing as ‘looking like Y’. There is also no such thing as ‘looking like a zhgdjgq’, but that is because ‘zhgdjgq’ does not refer to anything.

It is quite possible, however, for something to look like something impossible and thus to have the illusion of something impossible. For example, I might have the illusion of a man hovering in mid-air. Perhaps I am watching a magic show. I have never been acquainted with a man actually hovering in mid-air, but I am under the illusion that this is taking place. There is such a thing as ‘looking like a man hovering in mid-air’ even though there are no actual men hovering in mid-air. So Mr Wilkinson is wrong when he claims that you need a “genuine article against which to compare the alleged counterfeit”.

But you do need to know what Y would look like if you are to be under the illusion that X is Y. And here, I would say, Mr Wilkinson has a point. What is it like to have free will? Do we really know what it feels like? We could say, of course, it is like this (as we kick a stone), but that rather assumes that we do have free will. Otherwise how do we know that this shows us what having free will feels like?

However, the word ‘illusion’ does not always refer to a sensory experience. For example, consider ‘he is under no illusions about his dancing’. Usually this means that he knows is isn’t very good at dancing. He has no false beliefs about his dancing abilities. Another example might be, ‘she is labouring under the illusion that the government will change the regulations’.

It seems to me that it is in this sense that we use the word ‘illusion’ if we say ‘free will is an illusion’. Namely, we are simply saying that there is no such thing as free will. Beliefs in free will are, we declare, false. (Whether that is actually the case or not is a difficult matter on which I remain neutral in this post.)

]]>https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/illusions-impossibilia-and-free-will-careful-now/feed/0fliberdigibekThe Epidemic of Obesity: Non-Answers and Attempted Explanationshttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2011/12/29/the-epidemic-of-obesity-non-answers-and-attempted-explanations/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2011/12/29/the-epidemic-of-obesity-non-answers-and-attempted-explanations/#respondThu, 29 Dec 2011 16:28:58 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=127Modeled Behavior has a little post that is, I confess, somewhat too broadly aimed for it to be really clear what is being said. Indeed, it wouldn’t have been sufficiently interesting to be worth commenting on were it not for one particular claim and a follow up post. The claim is that “The baseline assumption… that obesity results from people eating too much and exercising too little” is “a maddeningly ridiculous non-answer”.

It seems that we should consider what might constitute a non-answer. To do so we should dispel one particular illusion which might complicate the discussion. It might appear that an explanation could be a non-answer if it is false. But this cannot be right. A false answer is not a non-answer, it is a wrong answer. In this matter grammar is a reasonable guide and for something to be a false answer it must be some sort of answer. So, for the purposes of asking whether or not the “baseline assumption” is a non-answer, it is not terribly relevant whether or not the attempted explanation is true or false.

What, then, might lead us to clarify something as a non-answer? There seem to be three possibilities:

It might be meaningless,

It might be unrelated to the question in hand, or

It might be a tautology.

I contend that the purported explanation is not meaningless. It is true that some more clarity is desirable in the notions of “too much food” and “too little exercise”, but I don’t think this renders the statement meaningless. It is also, I suggest, related to the question in hand. It certainly claims to offer a relevant explanation, whether successful or otherwise.

Is it, then, a tautology? We could imagine that “too much” food is defined in terms of weight gain. If this is the case then maybe the standard explanation starts to look like a tautology. But even this cannot be quite correct. A tautology, after all, does not tell us anything, but the simple idea that weight gain is related to the consumption of too much food does tell us something – namely that it is possible to alter that weight gain by altering the quantity of food consumed. All it fails to tell us is how to determine how much food is “too much” in advance. (Again, recall that whether or not this hypothesis is true is not relevant to whether or not it is a “non-answer”.)

It doesn’t seem likely that it is quite fair to describe it as a non-answer. Of course, it might be false, it might be unhelpful, it might lack predictive power, but it doesn’t seem to be a non-answer. At least as regards the question of a particular instance of obesity.

Perhaps we should be more generous. It is possible that Prof. Smith never really intended to describe it as a non-answer. Blogs are written quickly and these posts show the signs of having been written more quickly than most of Modeled Behavior’s usual output. Instead, perhaps, we should assume that the complaint is that it does not explain obesity. An explanation is a different sort of thing from an answer. One key difference is that an explanation cannot be wrong, for if it is then it does not explain anything.

On the other hand, it is not necessary that an explanation be completely true. We can use Newton’s Laws to explain phenomena even if they are not the last word in mechanics. An explanation may be partial or incomplete. So whilst we might protest that the “baseline assumption” has limited value as an explanation, unless it is totally wrong it is not barred from being an explanation at all.

Yet Prof. Smith has a further complaint as to why it does not constitute an explanation: “What we would like is something that takes parameter values and then tell us what result we should expect.” The only problem with this is that it not a requirement for an explanation to be able to provide a numerical prediction. That’s not an explanation; it is a model or a forecast. And despite appearances models don’t necessarily explain anything even if accurate. Boyle’s law doesn’t seem like much of an explanation of anything.

Most importantly it seems that only certain sorts of explanation are deemed interesting. The notion that one can adjust one’s weight by adjusting one’s intake of food and level of exercise is misinterpreted, almost wilfully, as being a statement about what people actually do to regulate their weight.

There are, I suspect, genuine and worthwhile complaints behind these posts. Since they are not clearly expressed they are difficult to assess. But it will not do to dismiss answers, however bad, as non-answers or to insist that only explanations from one angle are explanations.

A central concern of the epistemology of testimony is to explain how we acquire knowledge through the testimony of others. We do, of course, acquire many beliefs through testimony and many of those beliefs are true, but if we believe something which happens to be true we do not necessarily know that which we believe. A child might believe there is life on Mars because he has read too many comic books and it might turn out that the planet does harbour microbial life, but the child does not know that there is life on Mars. Knowledge requires more than true belief. How are we epistemically justified in believing something on the basis of testimony?

We may characterise two positions as regards this question, conventionally entitled reductionism and credulism.

The credulist position asserts that the receipt of testimony is, in itself, a reason to accept the truth of that which is testified. It is not a sufficient reason, because the testimony may contradict evidence that we have acquired from other sources. If someone tells me that my brother is an alien I am not obviously justified in believing that he is an alien without a considerable body of supporting evidence. But in that sense it is no different from any other source of evidence. If I thought I saw my brother peel off a mask to reveal an alien face beneath, I would do well to seriously consider the possibility than I am dreaming or hallucinating. All evidence is defeasible.

The reductionist position takes a more stringent view. It makes two claims about the justification of beliefs based on testimony[1]. Firstly, we are not licensed to assume that a particular case of testimony is reliable. We must possess positive reasons to support that reliability. Secondly, the justification of testimony is reducible to non-testimonial reasons.

The two reductionist claims are related. In particular the second seems to follow from and may be motivated by the first. Since the evidence we have to support a particular testimonial claim is often also a case of testimony, if the justification is going to avoid circularity it must ultimately rest on non-testimonial grounds such as perception and memory.

Expressed in this general way, the reductionist position does not specify the exact form that the justification of testimony takes. One possibility is that testimony may be justified as a whole by induction from the reliability of testimony in general. In this case an observation that people generally tell the truth in their daily lives may be deemed to justify the acceptance of cases where we possess no means of independently verifying the facts such as historical testimony, scientific testimony or religious testimony. At the other end of the spectrum it may be that any particular instance of testimony by a particular speaker may stand in need of specific justification. This more stringent view of the justification of testimony would pose significant challenges for the possibility of historical knowledge, for example.

This general characterisation of reductionism, however, does not imply which types of testimonially derived belief can be justified. Without further specification of the reductionist position we cannot criticise it on the grounds that beliefs that are widely accepted as knowledge cannot be classified as such by the reductionist. Instead, I concentrate on three arguments against the first reductionist claim.

1

Firstly, it is not clear that we can learn a language without a default acceptance of testimony. If we cannot then we can never be in a position to find evidence to support the reliability of testimony and the reductionist project will fail.

An important aspect of how we learn language is direct testimony about the meanings of particular words. If we are not justified in accepting such testimony then we cannot claim to know the meanings of words that are explained to us. The reductionist position appears to imply that we are not justified in believing that we have knowledge of a significant proportion of the language we use.

It may be objected, however, that it is not an essential part of learning language. We also learn a great deal by observing how words are actually used. It is at least possible that we can learn language without a dependence upon specifically testimonial information about language.

Yet we cannot learn a language without assuming that, in the instances we have observed, people are generally reliable in what they are saying[2]. Without this assumption we have no grounds for believing that a particular word refers to a particular type of object, because we have no reason to believe that the usage of words is at all consistent with their meaning.

This argument provides a significant challenge for reductionism, but it is not entirely clear that this argument is conclusive. In particular, to learn a language we need only assume that people are generally reliable when their words relate to a state of affairs that is immediately present. That is the condition under which we will be able to learn a language, but these are also the testimonial cases that are easiest to justify on reductionist grounds. This argument does not necessarily prove that we accept that speakers are generally reliable when describing states of affairs that are remote in time or space.

2

A second objection to the reductionist position is to refer to our social practice of presenting and accepting testimony. We do, as a matter of fact, generally believe what people tell us, much as we do, as a matter of fact, generally speak truly. If we are stopped on the street by someone asking the time, we do usually answer to the best of our knowledge. And if we ask a passer-by the time, we do not ordinarily doubt what we are told.

It may be objected that the fact that we do act in a certain way as part of a social practice cannot imply that we are justified in behaving that way. This cannot be quite right, however. If someone promises that they will perform some action then that, in itself, is a reason to believe that they will do so. Only if we are aware of a track record of failing to keep promises are we justified in doubting that an individual will fail to do as promised. Social practices can justify belief.

The provision of testimony is not simply a neutral description of a state of affairs. It is a social event where by providing testimony the witness is warranting that what they say is true. This social practice places constraints on the testifier, namely that they should not lie or deceive, and constraints upon the subject receiving the testimony, namely that they should not distrust or disbelieve without good reason.

This argument provides a challenge to the more stringent varieties of reductionism, but in order to undermine all versions of the reductionist position we would need to show that no positive reasons are required for accepting the reliability of testimony. It is not immediately clear that the existence of a social practice is not such a positive reason.

3

A third objection to the reductionist position might be that the distinction between testimony and memory is not as clear cut as it first appears. The reductionist has to implicitly assume that memory is reliable because without that there is no possibility of inferring that an instance of testimony is reliable.

It is not clear that, in terms of justification, written testimony from another person is significantly different from written testimony from ourselves that we cannot remember writing. In neither case are we directly aware of any further grounds on which the testimony is presented. But believing unremembered written testimony from our past selves is no less justified than believing something we remember where we cannot recall any of the adjoining circumstances. If this is so then cases of memory shade into cases of testimony.

One objection might be that we cannot be sure if another person is deceiving us and, at first glance, it appears that this does not hold for cases of memory. Yet we can never be sure that we are not unconsciously deceiving ourselves. We do, after all, unconsciously alter our memories to fit them in with what we would like to have happened.

There is a further objection. If we are not justified in believing the particular memories that are closest to testimony then the fact that we are justified in accepting some memories does not imply that we are justified in accepting testimony. Such a counterargument would require an explanation of why some memories are justifiable grounds for belief and others are not. It is not clear, however, that such distinction can in fact be consistently maintained.

4

The above arguments provide a number of challenges to the reductionist position as regards the justification of testimony. As so often in philosophy they do not refute the reductionist position, but they do present considerable difficulties for a defence of that position.

]]>https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2011/11/25/challenges-for-the-reductionist-view-of-testimony/feed/0fliberdigibekDubious Statistics – Part 1 – In Which Terry Christian Stumbleshttps://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2011/08/15/dubious-statistics-part-1-in-which-terry-christian-stumbles/
https://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/2011/08/15/dubious-statistics-part-1-in-which-terry-christian-stumbles/#respondMon, 15 Aug 2011 09:25:07 +0000http://fliberdigibek.wordpress.com/?p=60Terry Christian was on Sunday Morning Live discussing whether or not national service might help reduce crime. For lots of reasons I don’t personally believe that national service is a good idea and I know of no good reason to believe that it would reduce crime, but whatever I think on the subject it is important that proffered arguments and statistics are meaningfully related to the question at hand. It’s incredibly important.

So let us turn to the statistic in question. The key statement is Terry Christian’s claim that there are record numbers of ex-servicemen in prison. First of all, let us clarify the source. His source, he said, was the Guardian in 2008 and it looks likely to be this. We could dig further into the Guardian’s sources, but we should grant Mr Christian the right to rely on a reputable newspaper.

What we should not grant him is the right to misinterpret and distort the data – whether unintentionally or otherwise. There are at least two questions. Firstly, does the statistic as quoted support the argument that Mr Christian wishes to make? Secondly, does the statistic as quoted, and the uses to which Mr Christian wishes to put it, accurately represent the tenor of the original source?

So, for starters, the fact that there are record numbers of ex-servicemen in prison only tells you something about how many there are now versus some previous point in time. It tells you nothing at all about the relative rates of offending between ex-servicemen and non-ex-servicemen. So it does not tell you anything about whether or not people are more likely to offend if they have some military training.

Let us take this further. Let us suppose that we do have the rates of offending of ex-servicemen and civilians. Even that statistic doesn’t really tell you what you want because it’s not adjusted for any other factors that might bias the result. Perhaps only violent people want to join the army or perhaps the army does a surprisingly good job at filtering out violent people. Perhaps the employment prospects of ex-servicemen do not match a national average. Perhaps, indeed almost certainly, the current crop of ex-servicemen suffer more from post traumatic stress disorder on average than do civilians. Almost certainly the age and sex distribution isn’t representative of the population at large.

So there are considerable problems with a statistic related to relative rates of offending. But, even if flawed, at least it is actually about the matter in hand. Unlike the quoted statistic, which hasn’t got anything to do with it.

Our second question was whether or not Terry Christian accurately represented the tenor of the original article. Here there is some limited support for Mr Christian’s position. For example, “A pilot study at Dartmoor prison concluded that almost 17 per cent of inmates had been members of the armed forces.” At first blush – and, one imagines, second or third blush – it seems likely that this tells us something about relative offending rates. Although we should be careful about any attempt to naively extrapolate to the broader population.

However, there is much more to the story. Quoting Harry Fletcher of NAPO the article says, “In virtually every incidence the former soldier served in either the Gulf or Afghanistan, became involved in excess alcohol or drug-taking, and was subsequently convicted of an offence of violence.” So this offending is not related to the military system of training. Instead it seems to be related to active service. Which is not, I confess, too surprising. Indeed, the overall tenor of the article is that ex-servicemen returning from active service do not have the support they need.

Overall then, I conclude that the statistic isn’t relevant to the discussion and that the original article wasn’t accurately or carefully represented.